The Rake's Rainbow by Allison Lane

shoulders. “Relax, my dear,” he murmured, gently massaging away some of the stiffness. Chills and prickles tumbled down her spine. His lips brushed lightly against the back of her neck, his warm breath and sensual voice wrapping her in the silkiest velvet.
    “May I undo this braid?  I love long hair.”  His hands were already untying the ribbon. As his fingers combed through her waist-length tresses, she shivered, her book sliding unnoticed to the floor.
    Noting the effect he was having on his wife, Thomas smiled. His instinct was confirmed. This was a woman who could be wildly passionate if she would allow herself that freedom. Hopefully she was not one of those raised to believe that enjoyment of her marriage bed was unladylike. He must take great care to make her first time pleasurable for her. Pulling her gently into his arms, he smoothed his hands over her back, then lowered his lips to hers.
    Caroline froze for an instant before relaxing into his embrace. He was now her husband. Undue missishness could doom their marriage. His warm lips moved lightly over her own, sending a new regiment of chills marching down her spine. She experimentally moved her lips in response and felt his arms tighten, pulling her closer. The pressure of his mouth increased and his tongue gently requested entrance.
    Caroline stopped thinking and allowed instinct to take over. Her lips parted and he slipped his tongue inside, teasing and cajoling, inviting her to participate in an erotic dance that was already swirling her emotions into the misty realms of ecstasy. The kiss deepened, with her arms now tightly wound around his head, her hands combing through his hair, drawing him closer. His hands traced the lines of her back, her sides, her hips. The tightness of his embrace made breathing difficult.
    Her height was perfect, he decided, allowing her body to fit comfortably against his own. He lifted her into his arms and set her gently on the bed, his mouth tracing her cheeks, her neck, nipping at her ears. She moaned.
    “One moment, dear wife,” he whispered hoarsely, the velvety voice now reduced to something elemental and even more stimulating. He pulled away long enough to extinguish the lamp and divest himself of his dressing gown. He had not bothered with a nightshirt. Easy, he admonished himself. Don’t frighten her. Grasping the frayed edges of his control, he forced his breathing slower. The last thing he wanted was to instill an aversion to intimacy.
    She flushed at a fleeting glimpse of his nakedness, but forgot embarrassment as he once more wedded his lips to her own. Resuming her exploration of his shoulders, she reveled in their muscularity despite his admitted history of dissipation. He must have spent time on something more than debauchery in recent months.
    His lips again drifted down her cheek and onto her neck, this time continuing along her shoulder. At some point during this mindless embrace he had unbuttoned her nightrail. One hand caressed her breast, thumb rubbing enticingly across the stiffened tip. She moaned again, arching against that wicked hand, in search of she knew not what.
    He groaned in his own right, pushing her gown from her shoulder and shifting his lips to that rigid peak. He was moving far faster than he had planned, but he could no longer contain himself. She was incredibly responsive, more than he had hoped in his wildest dreams. He could not recall when he had last been so urgently aroused. Her fingers dug into his back, fiery against his bare skin. He shifted his attentions to her other breast and fought for control. He must calm down, draw things out, not chance scaring her. But oh, how he needed this. Her breasts were even more enticing than he remembered from that hazy awakening four days ago – firm, generous, and delightfully erotic. One hand slid down her thigh, inching up the hem of her gown until he could reach underneath, sending her into writhing delight, her breath gasping as